The Book Of Three Read Online Free PDF Page B

to their iron cages in Annuvin,” he said. “Arawn himself will have news of us before this day ends. He will not be idle.”
    “If only they hadn't seen us,” Taran moaned.
    “There is no use regretting what has happened,” said Gwydion, as they set out again. “One way or another, Arawn would have learned of us. I have no doubt he knew the moment I rode from Caer Dathyl. The gwythaints are not his only servants.”
    “I think they must be the worst,” said Taran, quickening his pace to keep up with Gwydion.
    “Far from it,” Gwydion said. "The errand of the gwythaints is less to kill than to bring information. For generations they have been trained in this. Arawn understands their language and they are in his power from the moment they leave the egg. Nevertheless, they are creatures of flesh and blood and a sword can answer them.
    “There are others to whom a sword means nothing,” Gwydion said. “Among them, the Cauldron-Born, who serve Arawn as warriors.”
    “Are they not men?” Taran asked.
    “They were, once,” replied Gwydion. "They are the dead whose bodies Arawn steals from their resting places in the long barrows. It is said he steeps them in a cauldron to give them life again--- if it can be called life. Like death, they are forever silent; and their only thought is to bring others to the same bondage.
    "Arawn keeps them as his guards in Annuvin, for their power wanes the longer and farther they be from their master. Yet from time to time Arawn sends certain of them outside Annuvin to perform his most ruthless tasks.
    “These Cauldron-Born are utterly without mercy or pity,” Gwydion continued, “for Arawn has worked still greater evil upon them. He has destroyed their remembrance of themselves as living men. They have no memory of tears or laughter, of sorrow or loving kindness. Among all Arawn's deeds, this is one of the cruelest.”
     
    AFTER MUCH SEARCHING
    , Gwydion discovered Hen Wen's tracks once more. They led over a barren field, then to a shallow ravine. “Here they stop,” he said, frowning. “Even on stony ground there should be some trace, but I can see nothing.”
    Slowly and painstakingly he quartered the land on either side of the ravine. The weary and discouraged Taran could barely force himself to put one foot in front of the other, and was glad the dusk obliged Gwydion to halt.
    Gwydion tethered Melyngar in a thicket. Taran sank to the ground and rested his head in his hands.
    “She has disappeared too completely,” said Gwydion, bringing provisions from the saddlebag.
    “Many things could have happened. Time is too short to ponder each one.”
    “What can we do, then?” Taran asked fearfully. “Is there no way to find her?”
    “The surest search is not always the shortest,” said Gwydion, “and we may need the help of other hands before it is done. There is an ancient dweller in the foothills of Eagle Mountains. His name is Medwyn, and it is said he understands the hearts and ways of every creature in Prydain. He, if anyone, should know where Hen Wen may be hiding.”
    “If we could find him,” Taran began.
    “You are right in saying 'if,' ” Gwydion answered. “I have never seen him. Others have sought him and failed. We should have only faint hope. But that is better than none at all.”
    A wind had risen, whispering among the black clusters of trees. From a distance came the lonely baying of hounds. Gwydion sat upright, tense as a bowstring.
    “Is it the Horned King?” cried Taran. “Has he followed us this closely?”
    Gwydion shook his head. “No hounds bell like those, save the pack of Gwyn the Hunter. And so,” he mused, “Gwyn, too, rides abroad.”
    “Another of Arawn's servants?” asked Taran, his voice betraying his anxiety.
    “Gwyn owes allegiance to a lord unknown even to me,” Gwydion answered, “and one perhaps greater than Arawn. Gwyn the Hunter rides alone with his dogs, and where he rides, slaughter follows. He has